


How The Tribbles have Turned

by Sherb42



Series: Star Trek: Migaloo [1]
Category: Original Work, Star Trek
Genre: Other, Star Trek EMH Mark 1, Star Trek OCs, Star Trek: Migaloo, Tribbles (Star Trek), hawaiian shirts, space postal service
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-26
Updated: 2020-03-06
Packaged: 2020-10-28 17:06:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 17,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20782088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sherb42/pseuds/Sherb42
Summary: A Vulcan Ensign’s first day goes array when the cargo freighter that he’s been assigned to gets affected by a smuggled biological weapon that starts to render the crew incapacitated. The ship’s Vulcan/Klingon chief of security is adamant that it’s a lone, loose tribble that has already attacked him, but the ship's comanding officer doesn't belive so.---Episode 1 of Star Trek: Migaloo.The misadventures of an understaffed and underfunded Federation cargo ship as they move cargo, people, and other oddities around the universe and deal with whatever problems-of-the-week that come up while doing so.





	1. Space Truckin' Round The Stars

**Author's Note:**

> Characters, art and story is all mine, the concept and intellectual property of Star Trek as a whole is not. This whole thing is just for fun and I have followed established canon and the like only when I need too.

_Far off in a shallow part space, a beaten up federation cargo ship was docked. Its crew was finishing up what little of a short planet leave that they all got, and automated systems stocked the ship. small, drone-like robots with localized gravitational distortion fields attached themselves to the sides of large cargo containers in pairs and brought them into the ship. _

_Once in the massive doorway, the carriers stopped in their places. Another huge, floating a curved arm scanned the crate before it kept on moving inwards. The robots took it to a pre-determined place and put it down with such precision that it was impossible to tell where the seam of it and the crate below it was. The robots let go, and went on the get another crate together. This process continued for as long as it needed to. Once the job was all done, all the robots in use settled back in their own corresponding nooks and shut down. _

_There was only one living thing in the entirety of the cargo bay. The Humanoid was dressed in a red uniform and was standing on a holographic platform watching to see that everything was in order. Satisfied that their job here was done, the platform hovered back down to the ground. They stepped off the platform and it disappeared. They turned to watch the large doors of the cargo bay close, the sound they made once finally together echoed through the bay. The humanoid made its way down the long and cold hallway that the towers of cargo made. All sorts of things could be found in them, furniture, ship parts, other personal belongings, sometimes even the remains of people who were on a journey all alone – but that was rare. _

_The humanoid pulled itself up a zig-zag of stairs, looked over at the cargo yard, and went back into the ship. _

* * *

* * *

Ship log, Stardate: 92488.87

We’ve just finished a doc at the G17 station and are now on a direct, three-day course to r4. There is nothing of note in the cargo - and we've picked up a new Ensign, a Vulcan man named T’Mau. I’m recording under the knowledge that this is his first time working on a federation ship, so I at least hope it’s a decent introductory period for him and it’s not too hard for him to get settled in.

Also, replicator 2BJS is only making Tt’ya soup again. A complete disassembly of the machine shows no issue with either the hardware or the software of the machine, so if anybody wants some Tt’ya soup between now and whenever we are able to figure out what’s going on, that’s the machine to go to.

* * *

Whenever you generally picture space adventures your mind usually goes towards the glitz and glamour of it all. Speeding away from villains at the last minute, life-threatening situations, lens flares everywhere you looked, those sort of things. I don’t really know what ships you’re looking at or have been in, but they sound fun to watch. If you’re expecting this particular ship to be like this, you’re just going to be disappointed.

So lower your expectations now.

Our story today (and for the majorly of this little series) is set on a ship that can best be described as a ‘soon-to-be-retired fed ex van that’s been rolled a couple times over a cliff and then got stuck under a bridge because nobody was paying attention to the height of the said bridge’ sort of ship. It’s a Gibuni-class ship named the USS Migaloo NCC-31254, and its purpose is to be a medium-sized cargo hull carting things, or even people, if no other ship is available for the job, to and from around the Alpha quadrant. It was one of the ships that operated under Starfleet Merchant Marine, a subdivision that dealt with moving cargo around the federation – said division has actually been around for quite a long time.

One of the newest thing that’s been added to the ship, other than the people who worked on it, was a rarely used EMH - mark 1 that was added 30 years ago as part of a federation-wide safety overhaul. Most of the time it’s faster to just treat yourself instead of trying to get it to work.

Yehaw. Actually no a 'yehaw' doesn't really work here. Their last doctor got moved to work on another ship a few weeks earlier, and were still waiting for either her back or a replacement altogether. 

Life isn’t always comprised of the best of the best that the universe has to offer, horrible safety practices aside, and you don’t always get to experience it condensed nicely into a 5-act structure full of only the stuff that you need to keep track of. It is, however, mostly people working desk jobs or other lower-class and tedious things. It’s true that a lot of people find comfort in that sort of thing, and that’s good. These jobs need to get done, and people of all kinds are the ones who are there to do it.

It might not be the glitz and glamour of an exploratory or scientific vessel, but it’s good and stable work.

For the most part.

* * *

The turbolift doors opened with a _‘swoosh’_ before its soul passenger walked out.

This was it, the big moment. No longer was he just some cadet having ship experience with a gaggle of his classmates, now it was just, him. Not even a superior to help him onto the ship itself, he would have to find one himself and properly introduce himself. This being no fault in his own – the higher-ups were just busy with other work and had been unable to join him.

It was sort of terrifying - if T’Mau was the type to get terrified.

Logically there was nothing to be worried about, and Vulcan man knew it. T’Mau had been assigned to this ship to work as a communications officer. On a cargo scull such like this one that was a job that both involved keeping track of orders and responding to calls about when something would arrive or sudden cancellations that went enough of an issue to pass forward to the commander.

It was a little like being the ship’s secretary, when you laid the job description out like that.

T’Mau had already found to his room and put his stuff away before this part of the story had begun.

His uniform was a dark red with a strip of black piping going around his chest and arms. The piping dipped into a point by the opening of the shirt, said opening going along his right side and kept together with a thin strip of magnets on either side. His short-sleeved and black undershirt was in a material similar to a sports jersey mixed with flannel and came to a part down the other side of his chest. The high collar didn’t look too dissimilar to the older, two-layered uniforms that used to have this undershirt in a grey-ish purple decades ago, but was a little more relaxed with its own part in place.

The overshirt, sitting like a blazer on the body, had a layer of pleated fabric over the front creating a layered design, and an inset pocket in the pleat. His new pip sat on the left (his right) side of the red collar.

Black pants were tucked into darker black boots, boots that had a coloured sole in the same colour as his uniform. The pants were secured by a band of elastic that went around without any opening for a fly and the shirt was left out regardless if you had pants or a kilt or skirt on. T’Mau wasn’t in the skirt at that moment, but I will still describe it now. It was black, pleated, and came to just above the wearers' knees. A single pleat over the wearer’s left leg was in the same division colour as their shirt.

It all looked a little bit like this.

T’Mau himself was a Vulcan - that much had been explained already. For a Vulcan his age, he looked very standard. Darker skin, dark eyes, straight black hair that he wore in a usual-styled bob, there really wasn’t much to ride home about, aside from maybe that he was a little sort and often held his hands together when he had nothing better to do with them. His fringe at the moment was a little longer than it needed to be, but that’s a start to a conversation that is worth having another time.

“Are you the new dude?”

T’Mau jumped. Or really, would have, if Vulcans did that. He stopped in his tracks and tried to lean back far enough to get a good look at whoever it was who was standing half a foot before him.

This is what T’Mau was able to figure out before the person spoke again: most likely Human judging from the lack of any organic markings or patterns that would say otherwise, and had grey eyes. He had black curly hair in large ringlets tied up and sat much the same way as if the ringlets where dreadlocks instead. The human also had a single bit of wavy hair that didn’t want to curl up with the others, and instead fell down over a well-worn red headband that used to be a scarf. The hair on the sides on his face that sideburns would usually be made out of was messy, and he needed to shave his chin pretty badly. There was a small patch of light scaring leaking out from the right side of his face under the headband, and a second, smaller set of eyebrows above his normal pair.

The same scaring also seemed to be on the nape of his neck and under a thumb-sized dark grey tab under his right eye, presumably resting above his cheekbone with wiring going in further under his eye. The tab seemed almost Borg-ish at first glance, but rest assured dear reader that it wasn’t.

The man had a patterned shirt under a very loosely done up uniform, one that was practically only together by a few inches of the magnetic strip at the bottom. The man’s combadge was also clipped to the lapel of the patterned shirt instead of his uniform. This particular patterned shirt was also red, with different types of flowering fauna in white. On Earth, that style of patterned shirt was often referred to as ‘Hawaiian.’

He looked like he could have been of Arabic descent, if T’Mau could correctly remember the different human phenotypes.

Regardless of anything else, whatever he was dressed like felt far too relaxed to be allowed on any respectable ship and was far too close to his face. This didn’t feel like a good sign of what was to come.

“You’re the new Ensign, right?” The man asked again with a friendly smile. “T’Mau? Vulcan? Right out the academy? Worked on a station for your placement? I heard you were joining us today.”

_‘Ah,’_ T’Mau thought, ‘this man must be another Ensign.’ He sure looked young enough. Perhaps his dress was a cultural allowance? It wasn’t unheard of.

“Yes, I am.” He affirmed, taking a step and a half back to regain some sort of personal space. If this man already knew who he was, it seemed unnecessary to need to ask him to confirm that. Still, that seemed to be a pretty common way for humans to introduce each other. It was a method to showcase an interest in the person that they were talking too. First, ask a question, and then say what you came to terms to ask yourself.

“Dope!” The human said with a bigger smile as he started to walk onwards. T’Mau joined on, matching his unrealistically quick pace.

“Is the Commander currently located on the bridge?” T’Mau asked.

The human hummed for a moment before responding. “Not yet. He should be there soon.” Most of the crew where either Ensigns or lieutenants, with just a commander being the one to keep everything in order.

“That is good to know.”

“Are you heading there now?”

“Correct.”

“Ah, same here, dawg," He stopped at a ladder. “Up this way is faster than walking all the way around.” He reported, pointing to it.

“The ship’s computer interacted that the bridge was on this floor.”

“Well, kinda,” the human mused as he scratched the side of his face. “The other lifts can get to it, but the one you came from doesn’t reach all the way. We recon’ there is something stopping tubolift from going from the entrance round ‘about where the one you got off from and up to the bridge. You can get down from the bridge no sweat, but they always seem to get snagged on the way up, unless you’re, like, goin’ straight-up - it’s really weird.” It was hard to figure out what accent the man was speaking in, ‘surfer’ was one of the first to come to T’Mau’s mind.

“A technical oversight?”

“Not really? But it’s been like that for a while now, we think it’s it’s a software bug,” The human looked back at T’Mau. He then seemed to have a bit of a ‘hang on, that’s a bigger problem than I now relies now that I’m saying this out loud’ sort of look to him. “A lot of the things on the ship are like, that – ya get used to it soon enough. You just have to take the long way around, and that way is sort of windy as you move up to It.”

“A ramp?”

“A ramp with an office halfway up,” the human said as he moved onto the ladder and began to climb up, “I know that they used that style on a lot of big-league ships for some reason, but on a small one like this it’s just annoying.”

“How unfortunate.” He replied as he too moved his way up the ladder.

“To be honest with you, we’re sort of not touching it at the moment so we don’t accidentally break the whole system – but it’s the first thing that’s going to be fixed the next time we have a repair overhaul.”

Once they were both on the bridge the human clipped up a bit of his uniform (although it really did not do all that much) and turned back to T’Mau, walking backwards in the open space before any of the chairs that where there.

“Here it is – not much but if you’re here to fly the ship this is where you do it.”

“That does appear to be the case,” T’Mau replied, only to keep the conversation going. It felt rather redundant to be told this. Humans seemed to like pointless small talk such as this.

It was a smaller bridge, a table by a large window/view screen with a blond woman in red working on it and another bench to the side that was elevated by a few steps that overlooked the rest of the bridge. The only other officer who was present was a Trill man working on said elevated station, it being set up as the main communications station.

He had red hair in a crew cut that didn’t know if it wanted to be curly or not and a regular amount of dark spots down his face, bar a single one under his right eye. He saw that the other two had arrived on the bridge and reported with a nod that was then mirrored by the human, closed something that he was reading on the table-screen before him and got up from his chair – his shift now over now that T’Mau was here. To speak figuratively, the Trill seemed to be around 80% leg and walked like he just made a verbal typo and was removing himself from the situation. His name was Vrure Bahn.

Bahn made his way to the ladder that the other two had come from, went to climb down it, and missed every step on his way down before (reportedly, judging by the _‘uak’_ sound he made) catching himself on the floor below them.

The human stopped and turned around to help him, but a pale hand came up from the hole in the floor, did a thumbs up, and then went back down. The woman manning the helm had turned to see the other two arrive but quickly went back to work. She did not react to the Bahn falling down the ladder.

_‘He’ll be fine,’_ a voice seemed to come from somewhere. T’Mau chose to ignore it.

Once the station was free, T’Mau made his way towards it, the soft fabric still warm from the officer who had just been in it. He opened the workstation back up and an assortment of tabs all over it came up. It was almost overwhelming at first - like as if somebody had tried to disarm the ship with vintage computer worms and popups from the early information age but this station received the entire attack and was never fixed.

Honestly, with the report of how well the ship was looked after that he had already gotten, T’Mau wouldn't be surprised if that was the case.

These tabs, however, were simply the sort of things that any communication usually has, but there was simply a lot of them - there was even a direct Klingon to Talaxian translator in the top right corner. T’Mau couldn’t think of a good reason for it to be present on the main controls, so he closed it. He pretty much closed everything there, giving himself a station that was actually workable.

The human also made his way to a station, but instead of a desk he had slumped himself onto the Commander’s chair, elbow on one armrest and legs over the other.

T’Mau looked at him, the expression that of whatever _‘????????????’_ conveys.

The human seemed to be assumed at that reaction. He kicked the half-wall next to the chair so it could swivel around so he could talk to T’Mau while still lying down. “Sup’,” he said with one of his arms out.

“Are you the-“

“Yeah man,” the Commander said with a laugh. “Sorry that I wasn’t able to welcome you on the ship when you arrived, I got caught up in some paperwork.”

“That is, understandable,” T’Mau replied, processing it all. He had known about the ship’s Commander when he found out that this was the ship that he had been assigned to it. A star navigator and flyer who had taken over the job and rank of the commander shortly after the ship’s last one was promoted herself to a more important ship. For somebody that was where he was right now largely though a lot of good recommendations, this absolutely wasn’t the look that he was expecting to see.

Usually, those in charge of starships where a little better put together, like not wearing an unbuttoned Hawaiian shirt under his uniform and lying on the command chair as if it was a couch. Still, it wasn’t like T’Mau had any place or power to oppose him. The crew would have all recently come back from shore leave, it was possible he just hadn’t been able to change since returning and just threw on a shirt so he was in uniform.

T’Mau was of course, wrong about this. What the Commander was in currently was actually pretty dressed up for him. Don’t ask me why, that’s just how he was. He was still in uniform, you couldn’t disprove that much about him. He took it off when needed to, but he never really felt like a strict uniform policy was all that important for him as long as everybody else did their jobs.

“Commander L’u-“

“Oh - nah - nah,” The Commander interjected, putting his hands out, “don’t bother with the full name. It’s a pain in the ass.”

T’Mau blinked in surprise. ‘L’ulatah’ did not seem that difficult of a name for either of them to pronounce.

“Just ‘Phoenix’ works, that’s a better name.”

“That is a Terrian animal, am I correct?”

“Sort of,” Phoenix replied as he swung the chair back to face the front. “But it’s only a made-up one.”

“I see,” T’Mau replied. He additively didn’t know all that much about Human, or Terrian, culture, but it didn’t seem all that hard to find enough resources to read about it. He put on the communication’s earpiece and began his shift.

“Hey, Lox, Keep us on a solid warp 6.8657 if you can, that will get us there 10 minutes later than the EST given to us.”

“Aye sir,” The helmsman replied.

T’Mau looked down at the two of them. “Sir,” he asked, immediately feeling like he shouldn’t speak up, but still doing so regardless. “At an even warp 7 the ship would arrive at StarBase r4 with ample time to spare.”

Phoenix put a finger up. “First rule of cargo transport: if you arrive on time then everybody is going to expect that from you. You can’t let them win.”

T’Mau didn’t have a good response to that.

There was a moment of relative quiet. “Yaknow, you’re not the only Vulcan on the ship now,” the Commander said, looking up at T’Mau. “The security chief’s another one. Although, he’s only half Vulcan, so I don’t really know if that counts.”

“Fascinating. What is his ‘other half?’”

“Klingon.”


	2. Uninvited Guest

With no scientific endeavours happening on the ship, the biggest crew compartment was the security team. It was mostly dealing with hitchhikers and inter-crew problems, but there was enough to do to keep them busy. The man in charge of that was named Ruh’k. The R and the K are hard, and if you say it wrong it sounds like you’re trying to cough to get somebody’s attention – so be careful not to do that.

His hair was down around to his chin, but looked a lot shorter than that because of how wavy it was. With both Klingon and Vulcan genes, you can believe that trying to keep some semblance of a good haircut would be almost impossible – so he didn’t. He did, however, have two rough braids that came over his pointed ears. He usually tried his best to match the colour of the bands tieing them to what he was wearing, so they were usually yellow to match his uniform.

His eyes were darker and seemed smaller than they were, and a permanent scowl that only seemed to be exemplified by his ridged forehead and pointed back eyebrows. There was an older scar over his nose and a newer one over the side of his mouth, but I’ll talk more about him in a little while.

This would be where I would cough if you could hear me. Right, so;

There isn’t all that much you can talk about when you’re talking about a cargo ship that you can’t already guess will be said, so I’ll spare it for now. Big, echoey, and full of a lot of large cargo crates. Think of old large Terrian shipping containers but you know, in space. They’re exactly the same, only that they cost a great deal more.

This whole thing really is nothing more than a space cargo ship. It’s what it says on the tin.

* * *

The halls between shipping containers where long, the shadows casting down from the lights above. A small group of yellow-uniformed security officers were doing their rounds abound them.

In one corner of a container by the ally that they were walking down, it looked as if something powerful had forcefully bore its way out from the inside. The gap looked big enough to poke a head out of, but not enough to be able to get the rest of a person out from. If it had been made by a phaser, you couldn’t see any of the usual burn patterns around the rim. The hole wasn’t at all clean, with stands of the metal peeling off from the exit port.

A touch spotlight studied the area. “Anything?” the owner of the voice asked the human next to him.

Lieutenant Penrose studied the tricorder in his hand. “Very faint heat readings both around the point of impact, and on the ground, but it’s not enough for a person.” Even If the hole was big enough for a humanoid, that was.

Penrose was the type of person that didn’t seem to indicate that he himself knew or even really cared how old he looked. He was just generic enough to fill the background or to die to fulfill a moment in the plot, but other than that he was either fine doing his job or keeping to himself. He was fully human and looked like it – not that that affected anything. 

“Faint as in what?” Ruh’k asked, the torch still up by his head. “Small?”

“Looks like it.”

“_A pest,_” The ship's first officer seemed to reply in annoyance as he clipped the torch to his belt with a magnetic ‘click.’ “Right, okay, scan for it. Follow the heat trail if you can.”

“Nothing over here,” Another voice called out from on top of a crate.

“Yeah, there isn’t, usually,” Ruh’k replied, yelling up to it.

The crate-climber leaned over so they could see each other. “It still doesn’t hurt to get a good look.”

“You get a better look from the railings than doing that, and we already did that when we started the shift. Come down.” Ruh'k ordered with a sigh. 

The other man, a Thaan Andorian lieutenant named Dotip Th'zhaoriss, did just that. He was the type to cut his hair to avoid having to brush it, and he desperately needed a haircut - his thick white hair was wild and almost tall enough to go above his slightly misshapen antenna. Dotip was one of the best target shooters out there in the Alpha Quadrant, but it was really nothing more than a hobby for him. He wasn’t at all the brightest person around, but he sure did try his best. It was sort of like when you change the parameters for a charter to have good stats in one thing - that being weapon proficiency - and horrible stats in everything else. He wore a rather simple single-chained d'ja pagh on his right ear, the larger, lower part of the earing that sat on his earlobe being part of an old Starfleet commbadge. 

He also generally just went by his first name.

“Check this out,” Ruh’k said he crouched by the hole. Dotip and Penrose followed, “Know of any weapons that can do this?”

“No chief,” Dotip replied. If there was anybody on the ship who knew his weapons, it was Dotip.

“I would guess that the box was already like that when it arrived, but it doesn’t look like it.” Penrose said, still with his tricorder out. “Whatever happened, it happened recently, judging by the mess that it’s left.”

“Doesn’t look like acid,” Ruh’k said, holding a piece of said shrapnel in his hand, “I hate dealing with acid.” He looked at Dotip. “What was in this one?”

Dotip stood up and walked a few paces around to get a better read at the shipping label that was stuck to the side of the container. He took out his own tricorder and scanned a barcode-like design on the label. “Looks like it’s just a chaser, all personal cargo.”

The other two stood back up.

“Let’s open it, see what else is damaged,” Ruh’k suggested, hoping that he wouldn’t have to fill out a damaged goods report.

The doors to the crate opened with a loud creak. Penrose slung the crowbar that he had used to open it over his shoulder as he took whatever steps that he could inside the tightly-packed collection of barcode-labelled cardboard boxes and more random things thrown in. There was a chair somewhere, and a dressmaker’s torso sitting on it by a corner.

Ruh’k took out his phaser and moved some of the stand-alone boxes out of the way. He was the strongest of the three, but had always had trouble in gaining any real muscle. That’s what Vulcan DNA can do to you, a low metabolism and nothing to show for it.

Ruh’k moved a larger box to the side and came to a giant mess. The little clearing was one of total carnage – everything that had once been there totally destroyed. It was hard to tell where one item started and another ended. It was like as if somebody had gone in with a whipper-snipper with a spinning office chair and then spun around with the blade on. There was also the hole that they had all seen before, with clear scrapes on the wall around it showing that it took a good amount of work to make the incision.

“Right so, uh, this is a problem,” Dotip commented, looking over the shredded mess.

_“No shit,”_ Ruh’k replied. “Worse part is that it’s now our problem.”

“Heat readings are the same as from the outside,” Penrose reported as he scanned the area.

Ruh’k looked back at him. “Are you honestly trying to say that something alive did this? It would have been tiny to escape through that hole.”

“Maybe it could change its shape?” Dotip suggested before he picked up a small box, directly causing the entire tower it was on top of to fall over with a crash. Whatever was in the pile sounded valuable.

Ruh’k hummed. “I do not feel like that’s true.” He exhaled. It was just a feeling that he had. ‘Put in that a damage report needs to be made here and we’ll keep on doing our round.” Cheap things can be replicated, valuable things are usually shipped or transported. If there was any valuable family heirloom back here, it wasn’t all that valuable any more.

But that wasn’t his job to care about that, his job to make sure this wouldn’t happen again.

* * *

At some point during the round, Ruh’k found himself by a corridor to himself.

In the middle of the path was what looked like to be a ball of fur. No arms or legs or anything else. All fur. Ruh’k gave it a gentle nudge with his boot, the fur rolling as if it was full of sand.

It took Ruh’k a moment to realise the pile of fur was alive and moving. Very slowly, and contacting it’s body back and forth like a terrain caterpillar, but it was moving either way. Ruh’k crouched down by it, watching it slowly move for a while. He scanned the fur for a moment – the heat readings matched the damaged corner with a computer calculation that the damage had occurred 0.34 hours ago.

This hadn’t been the culprit that he had been expecting. Usually, stowaways had _yaknow,_ legs.

A black-gloved hand went down to touch the fur, and in a split second it had attached itself to Ruh’k arm. Ruh’k shouted, both in surprise and pain. The reaction threw him to the floor, and using both of his legs he managed to kick the thing off and into a wall, the mass hitting it with both a hi-pitched screak of its own and a mushy, green blood-covered ‘thud.’

Dotip was the one who got there first. “What is it? What’s wrong?” he said in a panic. He had his phaser out and set to kill.

Ruh’k tried to catch his breath. He rolled up his yellow uniform’s sleeve, the wound under it fresh and defined in a ring of cut skin. After wiping the area with his spare arm and chest there appeared to be a ring of some kind cut cleanly into the skin. It looked almost like somebody had gone around the ring whole bunch of tiny knives. “That thing bit me,” Ruh’k replied with a snarl.

“Thing?” Dotip asked, walking towards the other officer.

“The, uh,” Ruh’k looked up, but whatever he had kicked wasn’t there anymore. The splat of blood that was left was, leaving a furry trail down to the ground as it’s fur acted like a tiny, inefficient mop. He looked back at his bleeding arm. The area inside of the ring was starting to bleed out some dark green blood.

Ruh’k’s combadge chirped. “Ruh’k to engineering, I want a full level 1 bio-medical scan of cargo bay 3, identify and locate any non-humanoid life forms.” He took his hand off the badge and snapped a finger at Dotip. “And I want _you_ to find a way to catch and detain it.”

“Righto, chief,” Dotip replied as he went to go and do that.

_“Dotip.”_

Dotip stopped and looked back and Ruh’k. “Yeah?”

“Put the gun down and use something else.”


	3. Gimmy The Skinny

“Commander,” T’Mau said, studying his work station, “We are receiving an urgent message from G-17.”

Phoenix looked up and at him, “How urgent?” 

T’Mau didn’t exactly know how to respond to that. “Urgent.” Was the best that he could describe it. 

“Put it through.” Phoenix ordered as he sat upright in his chair and fixed his uniform up. “Donte!” he said as the vidscreen changed from the view of space and to the call. 

“Commander,” The half-Betazoid man on the other end said. “Are you able to send us back a list of your current inventory?”

Donte Veniseto was one of the people who ran the G-17 station, the same station that the Migaloo had just left a few hours ago. He hated calling people, so this had to be a pretty big problem if he needed to make a priory call like this. 

“Uh yeah, sure. What’s wrong?” Phoenix asked. Stations always kept lists of what goes in and out of them, but it wasn’t uncommon for somebody to want to ask for a backup just in case – if that was what he was doing. 

“A lot,” Veniseto replied. He didn’t seem all that thrilled. 

“Give me the skinny.”

“We’ve captured some potential terrorists. They raised an alarm while on the station for having suspicious activity and they ended up claiming that they’ve planted their weapon on your ship before you left. At least, that was what they threatened as they were being arrested.”

“That’s not a good skinny, Don.”

“For a man who spent most of his carrier on an all-Vulcan ship, you sure seemed to have picked up a lot from them.”

Phoenix did a finger gun with a whistle. “I try.” 

T’Mau looked at the vidscreen, then at commander, and then back at the screen. For some unknown reason, it really didn’t feel like a good time to do a finger gun like that. 

“Regardless,” Veniseto continued. 

“Right, yes. What else do we know?”

“They’re not speaking to us aside from that, but if it’s real, we know that at least that it’s biological. They’ve got another man working with them on E-43 whose job is to ‘activate’ it, but we hadn’t heard back from E-43 if they’ve made any action further than keeping an eye on him.” Veniseto seemed to check something on another screen. “Station records do show that there had been people in restricted areas, and their friend has been located, so there’s that.” 

The Migaloo was the only ship that was going to go directly from each of those stations within the next month. Having a cargo ship as the unknowing carrier for something bad is a much better than risk getting caught on your own ship for arriving without much of a purpose and then leaving without a scratch just as soon as shit hits the fan. This wasn’t an uncommon tactic. 

“Biological? Like a disease? What’s it going to do once it’s activated?” Phoenix asked, clearly getting concerned for what was happening. 

“Again, we don’t know yet.” 

“E-43 is pretty busy, it would be a great place to unleash something that’s contagious.” 

“We have reason to believe that the direction of the attack was to the planet that it’s orbiting, actually.” 

“Galro IV?”

Veniseto nodded.

Phoenix seemed to think for a moment. “Why there? There aren’t any people on it aside from scientists and a small community of farmers. It must also be directed at the station, too.” 

“Still likely. We’re still working on the situation, but I want your crew on high alert until we can intersect.” 

“Have you got a plan already?” 

“We have people from E-43 on an intercept course that will reach you in about two days at your current speed. After they arrive they’ll be taking care of it.” 

“Can’t you send your own people? We can also just turn back around if it’s important.” 

“No-no,” Veniseto said quickly, “if that person on the other station know that you’re still coming on time we might be able to find out what their plan is without having to fight it out of them. And besides, we’re not a research station, I don’t think we will be able to do anything better than what you’re people will be able to do.” 

Phoenix rested his chin on his fist. “Uh-huh. That makes sense. I’ll get a scan up and running and report back if anything comes up, and I’ll make sure that nobody does anything stupid.”

“Understood.” The call was ended there. 

Phoenix looked over at the worried Vulcan. “Don’t worry. You’d be surprised as to how often this sort of thing happens to us,” he reassured. “Usually it’s a little more aggressive than this, though.”

“Should I issue a red alert?” 

“Hm, I’ll need something to tell all the security teams to medially stop all of their patrols just in case, and I also need you to issue a full level 1 bio-medical scan of cargo bay 3. That’s where all our new cargo was put.” He undid a bit of the magnetic seem of his uniform to give his neck some room.

T’Mau put in the commands. Something beeped in response, “Sir,” he reported, “There has already been a full scan ordered and is currently running.”

“What? Who ordered that?” The Commander asked, sitting up on his chair so he could try and see the screens for himself. 

T’Mau put in a few more keyboard presses. “Lieutenant Ruh’k, sir, 12.452 minutes ago.”

* * *

“Knock-knock.”

_“GAUH-”_ the man under the medical sticher yelped as he was startled, hitting the top of the machine with his elbow, hitting his funnybone in the process. He looked under his arm briefly before needing to turn around to get a better look. “Could you _not_ do that?” Ruh’k said with a leer.

“Sorry, sorry! I didn’t realise that you were so focused on what you were doing.” The Commander apologized with a soft chuckle. He walked over to where Ruh’k was working on his arm. 

The Migaloo’s sickbay was tiny, only one biobed to sleep in, a couple of cushioned chairs to rest or wait in by the entrance, and basic medical equipment with the ability to create and use holographic versions when needed. With such short trips and such a small crew, there wasn’t really a reason to need anything big. 

There was also a mortuary shelf in of the walls that could act as either a refrigerator or for cremation, but thankfully this particular one had never been used. Sometimes it got used as a second cot, but not much. The ship’s brig was bigger, but at least it was used regularly. 

“What happened over here?” Phoenix asked as he watched the machine resuming to fix up the bite on Ruh’ks arm. “It’s not at all like you at all to come in here willingly.”

“Something bit me.”

“What was it?”

“Don’t know, had fur and a lot of teeth. Hopefully Dotip is able to catch it. He’s good with that.” 

Dotip was not. Phoenix’s face scrunched up a little bit. “_Is_ he?” 

“Well, I’m not doing it.” Ruh’k replied. He held his arms out, dark green blotches showing that he had used his uniform to try and wipe off the blood coming from his arm. “Look at my uniform, Rhode is going to kill me.” 

“Nothing you can do about it, then.” Phoenix said, “That’s between you two.”

“Well, if the guy doesn’t want to deal with blood on a couple of uniforms, he shouldn’t have joined Starfleet.” Ruh’k said under his breath as he took the overshirt off. 

“He’s not actually in Starfleet, and it _is_ usually just your blood.” 

“And? What about it?” He asked as he threw the bloodied up uniform in the medibay’s replicator so he could recycle the evidence. “It is not my fault that I’m the only person on the ship with green blood.”

Rhode, as you will find out later, was the ship’s caretaker. Or janitor, depending on who you ask. If you ask him he might reply something along the lines of ‘the only person who gets any goddam work done around here.’ He was technically working there as a civilian, although he did have Starfleet experience from the past. 

“Not anymore, actually.”

Ruh’k looked back at the commander. “What do you mean?”

“That new ensign, he’s a Vulcan.”

“Oh right, you told me about that.” Ruh’k massaged his forearm for a little bit. “Any good?” 

“He’s new, no point in judging yet.” Phoenix climbed onto the biobed and watched Ruh’ks messy attempt as trying to set the machine back into the wall. “You know we have a doctor who can do that stuff, right?”

Ruh’k seemed to recoil in disgust. “Oh, no-no. I absolutely hate that balding photonic petaQ. Can’t we get a real doctor or something?”

“Ru, there is 27 people on the ship and the longest trips that we take last only a few weeks. We don’t really need one.” 

With a straight and emotionless face, Ruh’k looked up at the Commander. “Please.” He asked softly. Ruh’k was not a man who said ‘please.’ 

“Look,” Phoenix said with a sigh. 

Ruh’k put his hands up. “Fine! Fine. I don’t tell you how to run your little cargo scow, but one day something massive is going to go down and you’re going to hate yourself for not being prepared.” 

Phoenix laughed at that. “Actually, I got a call from G-17 just before. We might be in for a little bit of excitement pretty soon.”

“I assumed so,” Ruh’k replied, remembering the call for everybody to vacate the cargo bays that was given to his teams a few minutes before the Commander had joined him in the sickbay.

“Have your people seen anything out of the ordinary yet?”

“Other than the stowaway that attacked me? No.” 

Phoenix hummed for a moment. “Well, it might be good to get it checked out once it’s caught, just in case.”

“What’s the problem this time?”

“Biological weapon.”

“Oh that’s annoying.” He seemed to speak in a tone that showed that he really didn’t care for what was going on. “Do we have any ideas to what it is this time are we are just going to sit around worried as shit the whole time?”

“Got it in one.” 

Ruh’ks _‘uuuughhhhhhgh’_ was long and drawn out. 

“Apparently it’s only supposed to be activated later when it’s needed by a third party.”

“I still don’t like actively carrying a bomb.” 

Phoenix sighed. “Neither do I, but hopefully we should be alright if it’s all kept tight.” 

Ruh’k tapped a table for a few seconds. “Yaknow, It’s probably the whatever attacked me. Sure had the bite of a weapon.”

“Hmm, I doubt that,” Phoenix said as he moved to a holographic control. “Describe it for me.” 

Ruh’k moved his hands out so he looked like he was holding an invisible football, “About ‘yay’ big? All fur.” 

“What else? How many legs?”

“Nope. Just long fur. And teeth, somewhere.” 

Phoenix looked back at him. “Just a ball of fur?”

“Yep. Like your hair but straight.” 

The Commander did his best to make was he was being told. “Like this?” He said as the holographic model slowly spun around. The holoemitter that he was using was the same one that controlled the ship’s EMH/holographic equipment. This little one was designed to make tools that you needed to use.

Ruh’k looked at the model. “I guess so? I didn’t get to see much of it.” 

“I’ll see if anybody knows of an animal like that, but it doesn’t look too bad.” 

“It still bit me.”

“A lot of things bite you,” Phoenix said, not looking up for the holoemitter controls. 

Ruh’k rolled his eyes. “We need a better filter for all that stuff, one more rodent or space weevil that we have to chase around the cargo bays and I’m going to lose it – I promise you that.”


	4. Dotip and Friend

After a while, T’Mau and the ship’s helmsman had been allowed to take short breaks between their shifts. The helmsman was required to come back after her lunch, but T’Mau had been allowed to end his early and familiarize himself with the ship. In the words of the commander, he didn’t need to ‘stress himself out too much on his first day,’ regardless of the alert that was on or not.

He sure needed the familiarization, as it took him a good amount of time to find where the messhall was. 

There was a small group of officers standing around one of the tables in the ship's messhall. 

Dotip was one of the ones sitting down at the table, holding onto something small and furry in his arms like a tiny baby. It seemed to like being nuzzled up to his arms, and Dotip was shared the feeling. There was also a woman was sitting on the chair next to him. 

“Yeah, I’m not getting much from it,” She replied, still stroking it. 

“Ohhh, unreadable,” Dotip said quietly. “Very powerful.” 

“No,” the woman replied with a laugh, “I just don’t think there is much _too_ read.” 

A cream-furred Caitian security officer who was standing behind Dotip gave the furball a scratch. 

“I think it likes that,” the woman reported over some purring from both parties. 

Once he arrived in the messhall, T’Mau moved over to where the group was sitting to see what was going on. Dotip saw him walking close and looked upwards to him. “I don’t know you, do I?” he said to T’Mau. The ball of fur in his hands purred softly. 

“No. We have not met.” T’Mau informed before he moved his hand up into a Ta’al. “I am Ensign T’Mau. I arrived on the ship 3.24 hours ago.” 

Dotpit smiled at that. He almost put his free hand up to turn the salute into a high-five before the woman was able to pull his hand back down to stop him. This was done halfway through him saying something akin to ‘Ah, cool-ool,’ with the second half of the ‘ool’ being lower and he relished what he had almost done and put the hand back on the creature. Dotip blushed a little right after that, his cheeks going a darker blue than normal. 

T’Mau didn’t seem to mind. He was aware of what Dotip was implying. 

The woman next to him just seemed to giggle at the interaction. ‘Don’t mind him,’ her voice seemed to come from somewhere all around as she smiled. It was the same voice that T’Mau had heard in passing on the bridge earlier. Her name was Loxa Keiro, and was the main helmsman of the ship. She was about the same physical age as Dotip, and had the same rank of lieutenant. Her hair had been coloured blond long enough ago for her usual dark hair to have well grown out, leaving the regrowth clearly visible with her hair loosely tied back. It looked as if she had permed her hair, leaving her natural Betazoid curls be exemplified. Her irises were also large, another telltale sign that she was a Betazoid. 

That, and the telepathy she had just used. She was also in a skirt instead of the regular black uniform pants, being one of the few people on the ship who wore it. 

Dotip held the creature up to T’Mau. “Look at what I found,” he said with a smile. 

T’Mau looked at the furball, not really knowing what to do next. “You… found it?”

“Yeah! It actually didn’t take that much coxing to get it in my arms.” The Andoria replied. He seemed happy with what was going on around him. 

“That is good If that is where you want it to be.” 

This was Ruh’k queue to also arrive in the mess hall, preferably for a drink or two. 

Here's a little note from the author: A mocha raktajino can be an excellent drink to have if you’re of a species that becomes inebriate from coca, but also want to be kept alert enough to keep on working. And no, before you ask, Ruh’k heart problems where entirely due to messy genetics and not because of his quite regular consumption of these drinks. Although to be honest here, they didn’t really help all that much. 

A mocha raktajino drink suddenly appeared on the counter next to him. Ruh’k was leaning on the edge of the bar at this point, watching the group that had gathered by the fluffball of the hour. “Tribble.”

Ruh’k took the drink, not looking at the person who had given it to him. “Gesundheit.”

“No, that thing that he’s got. It’s called a ‘tribble.’” 

Ruh’k looked around. Penrose was standing at the bar, holding a drink of his own. It was red and alcoholic. 

“I’ve seen them before,” he began to explain as if he was narrating a dramatic flashback, “They infest the whole ship with numbers alone. They used to be a big problem, then they all went extinct, and then suddenly back again on a deep space station a couple of decades ago and then spread onwards from there.”

“That sounds annoying.” 

“Oh, it is,” Penrose said as he took a sip. “Still, As long as nobody feeds it, we should be fine.”

“Why’s that?”

“’Cause those things can turn everything that it eats and doesn’t use into babies.”

“Gross.”

“It's easy to end up with a lot of tribbles, I can tell ya that.” It was hard to tell what accent Penrose spoke in, but it sounded like it could have been somewhere on Mars. He also seemed to speak as if he knew all-too-well what a tribble epidemic was like. 

Ruh’k watched the small group of people who had gathered around the tribble. Nobody was talking, instead just taking turns in holding and petting the thing. If this tribble liked that sort of thing it would have been in heaven. “They sure all seem… preoccupied.”

“They do have that effect on most people, yes. They reckon it’s the sound they made has an effect on most humanoids.”

Ruh’k looked back at the human at the bar. “You’re not going to go and say hello?”

“In a bit, maybe. I think I might go and check if there was a tribble listed in anybody’s cargo.” 

“Oh, I already did. We’re not supposed to be carting any live exports right now, and the level 3 bioscan that got done didn’t show anything else,” Ruh’k reported. 

“Weird. Then again, there is no way a tribble would be allowed though normal customs just like that. The restrictions on the things are insane.”

Ruh’k took a drink of his raktajino and put it back on the counter. He came his way towards the group of tribble admirers and they moved out of the way for him. The tribble chipped and vibrated very aggressively when Ruh’k went to go and pet him, causing him to back off. Dotip held onto the tribble tightly to stop it from doing any harm. 

Penrose had been watching it all happen from behind the bar. “They don’t Klingons,” he called out as he began to make another drink. 

“I can see that,” Ruh’k said as he looked at the scene in front of him. “Dotip, have you just been parading that thing around the ship this whole time?”

The tribble purred. 

“Uh, yeah! Kinda,” Dotip said with a smile. “I don’t really have any other work to do right now ‘cause of the alert.”

“I can tell,” Ruh’k replied with a sigh. “Just... keep that _thing_ close to you and don't feed it, I don’t want it loose and causing any trouble.”

“You got it, cheif.” 

Ruh’k left the mess hall after that.


	5. "Know Anything Medical?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Post update edit: I posted this, assumed there was an error on my side that made my post the chapter twice on a refresh, and then deleted the first 'double.' Like an hour-ish later I realize that I already posted this chapter and just never marked the .doc file a 'done' and just, forgot about posting it last week. Oops. That sounds like a bad excuse but it's honestly not - Sorry for the double update email if anybody is subscribed.

A born and made-for-the-job pilot himself, Phoenix often took over driving the ship, or at the very least navigated. Half when he needed too, half when he had nothing better to do and just sort of, wanted too.

Pheonix looked up from the navigation station and looked back up at Bahn over at communications. “Hey B, how long since Lo took her break?”

“30, 35 minutes?” Bahn incorrectly guessed as he took his attention off from listening to the subspace radio.

Phoenix bit his lip. “She was only supposed to be gone for a 10-minute break, where is she?”

Bahn pressed a few things on his console. “She is in a corridor on deck 5,” he reported.

“What direction is she headed in?”

“She’s not moving, Sir.”

“Not- not moving? What?” Phoenix looked back. “Did she lose her commbage?”

“Uh, negative. Computer readout shows a heat map around the badge.” Bahn looked back down at the commander, realising what he had said. “That’s not good, is it?”

“Not usually,” Phoenix said. He disengaged his hand from the hologramatic control and then picked something off his screen and directed it to Bahn’s console with a flick of his wrist. The helm controls appeared on his station. “Call over Armo to help on the bridge and beep me if anything big comes up and De to take over driving if I’m not back soon.”

“Yes sir, will do.”

* * *

We now cut back to Mr Ruh’k. He’s not doing anything more important than a regular level of Ruh’k brooding and walking down on of the corridors. He turned a corner and saw Dotip just, lying there on his side - something that he didn’t usually do. “Crewman?” Ruh’k said in a relatively calm tone, hands on his hips once he was up to him, “Dotip?”

Dotip didn’t respond, it wasn’t like he actually could. Ruh’k crouched down beside him, “Mr Th'zhaoriss?” he said, softer this time. Noticing something, Ruh’k turned Dotip’s hand around - it was covered in a dark rash, bits of darker blue blotches on his skin showing small bruises. Ruh’k pulled his sleeve up, the rash extending all the way up it. Dotip’s other hand was the same. “Security at my location, we have an officer down,” Ruh’k said into his commbage.

T’Mau appeared in Ruh’k view, walking through a nearby T intersection towards his quarters. “Hey! Kid! Over here!” Ruh’k yelled out with one of his arms up. T’Mau stopped, looked at the situation, and quickly made his way to where Ruh’k and Dotip where.

“Know anything medical?” Ruh’k asked him.

“I have completed the standard level of medical training issued by Starfleet academy.”

Ruh’k rolled his eyes at such a stock and ‘yeah duh’ response. “Good. Take a look at this,” Ruh’k then quickly did a double-take. “Wait, who the hell are you?”

“Ensign T’Mau, sir,” T’Mau replied as he checked over Dotip’s body. “I am new to the ship.”

Ruh’k shifted his weight onto the other leg. “T-… that’s usually for a women’s name. And if I’m not mistaken, and sorry if I am, you’re not one.”

“I do share a namesake to a maternal ancestor of mine, although older naming traditions _are _starting to go out of phase.”

Ruh’k interpreted that as an ineffective way to skirt around it. It was the same sort of thing as meeting a human male named ‘Sadie,’ or something along that line. “Right, either way, what’s your diagnosis here?”

“They appear to be chemical burns,” T’Mau reported. _Did this officer really not know?_ “Are you aware of what has happened to him?”

“No, I’m not. From what, exactly? I don’t see any blisters or abvert burn marks.” A rash, maybe, but that was it.

“If it is from a chemical, it has likely adsorbed through his skin - then carried through his bloodstream to the rest of his body.”

“So, what the hell has he touched?” Ruh’k said. He checked Dotip’s face. The beginnings of the rash were starting to appear on his nose and cheeks.

“The ship was issued for a warning for a harmful biological substance being carried on the ship 1.53 hours ago. Has he come into contact with it?”

“Usually those are just bluffs: some yabo wants to seem bigger than they are and they use ships like us to do it,” Ruh’k said as he sat Dotip up, “And he better not have, he’s still on shift right now. Help me with him, he needs to be taken to the sickbay.”

T’Mau hesitated. “If this is the result of cross-contamination, it may be wise not to touch him with bare skin.

Ruh’k put his hands out, showing his black gloves off. “I’ll be fine,” he said. T’Mau seemed a little confused. “Kid, I am a touch telepath. Of _course _I’m going to keep a pair of gloves on.” He said.

T’Mau looked at the gloved officer before him. His forehead ridges were in two rows that started from above his eyes, but not as propionate as a Klingon usually had. The lowest ridge, the one that sat where the eyebrows were placed, curved upwards in a point on either side. His ears were also pointed, and with Klingons having greatly recessive auricular, this stood out quite a lot on him. T’Mal quickly surmised that this was the Klingon/Vulcan officer that the commander had mentioned before.

“Proper mental sheds are often more than effective enough from preventing skin-to-“

“Thank you, _Kid_, but they don’t really help with _this_ sort of thing.” Ruh’k snapped back, cutting him off. He looked around. “I ordered people here to help, where are they?” He stood up, fixing his shirt as he got up. 

“Perhaps it may be better to call medical staff instead?” T’Mau proposed.

Ruh’k laughed a cold and forced laugh. “Oh, if only.”

“How does the ship not have adequate medical staff?” T’Mau asked, more shocked than anything else.

It largely depends on your definition of ‘adequate.’ We did up to a little while ago but, uh,” He looked at T’Mau, “It’s a long story," he muttered. "Dam Wobbegong traitors," he muttered even quieter. 

“But what if the ship is the only one that can come to aid in the event of an emergency? Or if there a pressing matter such as this?”

“Hope you can deal with it by yourself?”

T’Mau really didn’t like that response. “Everything that I have encountered today has either been broken or deemed unrepairable, and am now sure that the crew can be included in that same concern. How is this ship still allowed to operate? within regulation?”

“I have and still am constantly filling the same reports out and you are _absolutely_ asking the wrong person here. Are you going to help me or not?”

* * *

Ruh’k and T’Mau were able to take Dotip to the sickbay, thankfully it was only a single floor above, and it didn’t take very much to carry him together with shared Vulcan strength.

“Don’t tell anybody that I did this,” Ruh’k quickly ordered once the three were in the sickbay itself. “Computer, activate the EMH program.”

“Please state the nature of the medical emergency,” The EMH said with a friendly tone. The program was in the uniform that everybody else was in, but blue.

I mean, I sure hope it was blue. If it wasn’t then you’ve got more pressing problems to deal with.

“Crewmen down,” Ruh’k reported, clearly not wanting too. “Covered in rashes and won’t wake up.” 

T’Mau blinked. He had only seen an old Mark 3 like this in educational and historical programs, and even then they became obsolete just as quickly as the kinds before and after it. 

The EMH scanned Dotip with a tricorder that was suddenly in its hands. “Poisoned,” it reported.

Ruh’k exhaled. “What kind?”

“It appears to be organic in nature,” the tricorder beeped again, “and greatly affecting his blood’s ability for carrying oxygen.”

“Andorians have oxygen in their blood, right?” Ruh’k asked.

“Correct,” said the EMH. “Although Andoiran blood contains a high amount of cooper-carrying Hemocyanin turning it blue, they also-“

“Yes, good. I really don’t care. Just give me ‘yes’ an ‘no.’”

T'Mau watched them work quickly to get the half-asleep Dotip onto the biobed and his yellow uniform shirt off, revealing a thin phaser-resistant vest over his undershirt. 

Two more people arrived in the sickbay, one half carry other. The other officer looked like they were seconds away from passing out drunk. It was two of the engineering officers.

“Hi,” the first said, not expecting the EMH to have been activated.

“Hello,” the EMH said back with a smile.

“What’s wrong with her?” Ruh’k asked, helping the incapacitated officer to one of the chairs. Said officer had the same sorts of rashes as Dotip had, but was red instead.

The EMH opened the officer’s eyes and shone a light into it. She lethargically reacted back, but wasn’t able to produce much else of a reaction. She was slipping fast, the other officer caught them from falling forward. The EMH scanned her. “Same substance, but in a much lower dose. Her white blood cells appear to already be attacking back.”

“I don’t what happened,” the other officer tried to explain. “She just collapsed as we were walking.”

“Is anybody else like this?” Ruh’k asked.

“I don’t know, we were just on our way to the holodeck but we - we didn’t get all that far, as you can see.”

“Well,” the EMH said after opening the spare bed and helping the officer onto it, “It’s a good thing you came here instead.”

Ruh’k looked back at the second, fully awake officer. “What about you?”

He rolled up his uniform sleeves. “I’m fine, sir.” This practical officer was actually a Risan, although that has no bearing on this story at all.

“For now.”

“Computer, give up bio-chemical fitters on every force-field point on the ship. “Tell us if you detect anything airborne that shouldn’t be out there,” Ruh’k ordered. There was a chirp in response, the door got covered over with a thin blue light.

There was another chip. “Quah- Engineering to sickbay –Toh,” the voice of the ship’s chief engineer said over the sickbay intercom.

Ruh’k pressed something on the wall to respond to the call. “Medical force fields have been put in place on my order,” he informed.

“We have a couple of officers who are not doing too hot down here,” the voice informed, immediately dropping the Galtan formalities once they had heard who they were talking too.

Ruh’k seemed very displeased at that, but more about the prefix and suffix dropping than the actual situation. “Make them comfortable, they’re not the only ones.” Said. “How many down over there?”

“Enough to cause a problem.”

“Look," Ruh'k said with a hand to one of his temples, we’re not going to be able to do much with them up here. Keep their airways clear and everything else tight, I’m going to contact the commander.”

“Understood,” The call was ended.

Ruh’k ended up calling the commander and the commander called him at the exact same time. It took them both a second to realize what happened before Ruh’k was finally able to speak without being spoken over.

“Forcefields in action are medical and for filtration, it was applied on my order,” Ruh’k reported.

“_Ruuuuu,_ what the hell is going on here?” Phoenix sounded worried.

“Oh, nothing big. Sickbay is just being inundated with calls and half our ship is asleep.”

“What? Who else?”

_“Who else?_ Commander are you with somebody who’s gotten sick?”

“It’s Lo,” Phoenix explained, “I found her lying in the corridor. She didn’t report to her shift and now she’s not responding.”

“Any rashes or ship aversions?”

“It looks like healed burns on her hands, yes.”

“Try not to touch her if you can,” Ruh’k said quickly. “We don’t know if it’s going to spread to you or not if you do.”

“What about the rest of the crew? Who else is like this?” Phoenix asked again.

“Enough people in engineering to call in and ask for help about 19.3-ish seconds ago.”

Somebody else arrived. They didn’t have a person on or with them, but had come to get some help for another area of the ship. She looked at everybody else who was in the room, already knowing that they were there for the same reason.

Ruh’k put his finger back on to his badge. “Commander this is a problem.”

“I can believe that,” Phoenix replied before ending the call.

Ruh’k looked back at the patients. “What’s wrong with them?” He asked the EMH.

The EMH gave a shrug and pressed something on a screen.

Ruh'k blinked in surprise. “Excuse me? What’s wrong?”

“I am sorry. I was requested to only respond with positives and negatives,” The EMH said as it kept on working.

“Hey- don’t play smart with me!” Ruh’k stumbled with the same amount of rage that you give a computer after it says that your voiceprint is incorrect 5 times in a row. “Just do your job or you’re going to be reprogramed to clean the holodeck protein collection storage. Is this going to kill them?”

“It appears that both, and in turn the rest of the affected crew, will recover in due course, I’ll see if a dose of Malgatutiam will speed it up,” it replied as it put a dose of said chemical into the second officer’s neck with a hypospray.

“_I’m_ going to kill him,” Ruh’k declared.

“That seems a little harsh, now,” the EMH said back, sounding a little bit more worried for its patient.

Ruh’k gestured towards something. “Not if he’s caused _this _it’s not.”

T’Mau looked at the sleeping Dotip. “How would he have caused this?”

“I don’t know, but I’m more than sure that he’s involved somehow.”

* * *

“Let me see your forearms,” Phoenix asked Bahnn as he entered hastily the bridge through the door.

Bahn turned around quickly rolled his sleeves up. “I’m clean, I’m clean I swear.”

“Good, good.”

“Commander, what’s-“

“I need you to send in a message over that we’re going to be staying here,” Phoenix asked as he moved over to the ship’s controls. “That ‘weapon’s’ somehow been activated down in engineering and in a few other parts of the ship, it’s makin’ everybody sick.”

Bahn got ready to call. "Sir, we were - uh, not meant to do that," he stumbled, trying to not overstep his authority a the cheif of communications. "They didn't want us to do that."

“It doesn’t really matter anymore. I don’t know how long we’ve got until everybody’s out and I don’t want to risk driving a ghost ship right into a planet at maximum warp. It was optimistic at best.”

“Aye sir,” Bahn replied as he hailed the station.

The Migaloo dropped out of warp, the stars of the viewscreen becoming independent once again. Phoenix put the ship into a high orbit of a nearby class-J giant, it was the closest to them. He locked in the console and stood up to look at a concerned-looking Bahn, still waiting for a response from the station.

* * *

Sickbay was quickly becoming overwhelmed with offices all over the ship reporting in sick. The EMH got transversed all around the ship where the holoemeters would allow it, but there wasn’t much it could do.

Halfway into looking over the ship’s medial database, Ruh’k paused. “_Tribble_.” He realized quietly.

The EMH leaned back, allowing both of them to be in the frame of this hypothetical shot. “Excuse me?”

Ruh’k looked back, turning around on the base of his heel as he did it. “They’ve all been around that ‘Tribble’-thing: that _has_ to be it.”

The EMH scoffed. “Tribbles aren’t dangerous unless they’re in large numbers, and they don’t do _this_ to people.”

“The animal itself doesn’t have to be the problem, it could be carrying something else,” Ruh’k replied, “Like a plague. We need to find that thing - if it’s spreading this sickness around then we’re in big trouble,” he said as he punched in a ship-wide scan on one of the sickbay computer terminals.

The computer beeped back a negative.

“_Whyyyyyyyyy are you doing this it’s just a rodentoid they’re not hard find_,” Ruh’k cursed under his breath with a singing-like flow.

T’Mau watched the negative scan on the monitor. “Sensors may not be attuned for-“

“Do you actually know how sensitive this equipment is?” Ruh’k snapped back.

“Yes sir.” T’Mau got the - and excuse the Terrian term - ‘gut feeling’ that they weren’t at all.

Ruh’k looked back over a T’Mau. “I can’t think anywhere it could be that would stop any life-scans, I don’t get it.”

T’Mau thought for a moment. “Between the installation between the walls and hull? There may be bilnd spots behind the sensor terminals.”

“How would it get in the walls? Those are pretty tightly sealed.”

“They… don’t have any bones.” 

Ruh’k exhaled before snapping his fingers at T’Mau. “Right. Okay. We’ll find and catch that thing on foot if we have to.”

“Are you certain that the Tribble is the cause of this?” the Vulcan asked.

“It’s a lead, and the best one that we have as far as I’m aware,” Ruh’k replied as he threw the Ensign a small medical tricorder and began to mentally draft a ship-wide search warrant.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> T'Mau allows himself to feel one (1) emotion and it's 'what the actual fuck.'


	6. Rhode

  
On another part of the ship, although not too far away from where he had just been in the story, a non-conscripted worker made his way down with headphones in and dumbing along to the music on a work cart. 

A vent caught his attention as he walked past it. It appeared to have been jittered open, wires shot and all over the place. 

He sighed, stopped, got down on his knees, and then opened up the vent to have a better look. It was one that was right behind a bulkhead, but the bulkhead itself hadn’t been damaged. The inside of the damage looked like it had been chewed through. 

“Fuckin’ hell,” the man before it said with a sigh. 

Octavius Rhode was the type of person who you could talk to about what was going on in your life, as long as he’s able to keep on working while you talk to him. He only worked on the ship as a civilian, and liked it that way. It gave him less to worry about if he was only there to make sure everything was clean and the holodeck was recycling what it needed too. He usually worked in an old-styled engineering jumpsuit, the type that folded over itself a bit like robe. 

Lighter skin and brown hair, his beard was the same colour. He looked older than most of the crew did. Rhode was actually a Magni-Romani native, but nobody had ever actually asked him if he was human or not, so he was just assumed to be one - not that it was even all that possible to tell the two apart aside from a cultural difference. Never mind the fact that Magna Roman wasn’t even a warp-capable planet and of yet and logistically has no way that he should even be in space - but like most things that I’ve brought up in passing in these little character-descriptive blurbs, is a story for another time. 

Mr Rhode poked though the nest-like mess made of wiring and installation. Something inside rustled, and he took his hand back. Rhode then reached over a pulled a bit of meat from his half-eaten lunch, putting the nibble by the entrance. 

The small moving pile shook itself out of some wires to revel a pile of brown fur. The tribble bobbled a little, unsure if it should trust what was going on. He made some ‘kissy’ noises to try and attract it closer, and that seemed to be enough. 

“Hey, Starfleet,” Rhode called out as he saw T’Mau walk by. T’Mau stopped and walked towards the ununiformed worker. “Here you go,” He said as he handed the fuzzy bundle to him. 

T’Mau felt the tribble in his hands. There felt as if there was a big empty space in it on the inside, presumably because it was not currently pregnant. Thankfully. “Oh, I have been looking for this,” He said, looking at it. 

“Mhm-hm, well there you go. I don’t really trust it,” Rhode said as he stood back up, patting down his pants as he did it. “It’s got no face, I’ve never been able to trust things without them.”

“That is a wildly common humanoid response.” 

* * *

  
“I still think that you’re acting too aggressive about this,” Commander Phoenix said with a sigh, rubbing his face to try and zone himself back into the conversation, “You and I both know what you’re like.” 

Ruh’k seemed almost offended at that. “In all the years that we’ve known each other, have I ever lied about something like this?”

The two of them where currently in Phoenix’s near-spotless office. Ruh’k had been the one to call them both there, and the commander was at his desk. 

“No,” Phoenix replied. 

“Would I ever lie like this?”

“Frankly I never thought that you ever would be that imaginative.”  
  
Ruh’k seemed to make a noise at that, but what it was of it was hard to tell. “See?”

Phoenix rubbed his temples. “Look, usually I do trust your judgment, you know that-”

“Exactly.” 

“I am still allowed to take this pitch with a grain or two of salt, expressively when you’re going to be naturally prone to hating the thing.” 

Ruh’k seemed to struggle with not hitting something in response. “Commander.” 

“Lieutenant.” Phoenix said with a sign, “Besides, have you actually yet found a link between what’s happing to the crew and the tribble? Has anybody actually found it yet?” 

“Do I need one? Anybody who’s most likely come into contact with the thing has gone down.”

“Probably,” Phoenix repeated. “But you can’t rule everything else out just like that - omissions of other danger is how people get killed. What about you? Why aren’t you sick?”

“I don’t know.” 

“Do you have any proof that it’s directly responsible?” 

“Evidence by deduction.”

“It’s not evidence just because it’s all you have to go off. Look, Ru, as long as it’s just the one of them, it’s harmless. Come back when we’re overrun with them, but we’re not.” 

“It’s a uterus with fur! How does it have more credibility than I do?”

"I don't want to be the guy witch two independent reports that state stuff on the lines of 'situation was not dealt with in due time due to a senior officer chasing a single tribble around the mell hall.'"

"That was a fluke! And it had nothing to do with me!" 

T’Mau entered the office. 

“T!” the commander said, giving the ensign a smile. “Ruh’k, have you met the new dude yet?” Was he trying to change the topic a little? Not really, no. But the conversation had been going around in circles quite badly up to this point. 

“Yes, yes, Live long and all that stuff – Commander!,” Ruh’k said, putting his hands on the table, not even bothering to look at T’Mau.

“You’re dismissed,” Phoenix said, “Look, go and make sure that any of the sick crew are kept somewhere safe and comfortable. That’s the best that we can do right now until I can sort more out.” 

“Sir-” Ruh’k protested. 

Phoenix sighed, looking at T’Mau for some sort of support. “If anybody is able to catch it, I’ll get them to the ship’s lab.” 

Ruh’k rolled his eyes and turned to leave. 

“Oh, and Ruh’k?”

“Yes, Commander?” Ruh’k said, turning around on his heels. 

“Just… please chillax.”

“I have never and will never ‘chillax.’”

“I know.” Phoenix replied with a sigh as Ruh’k left the office, doors ‘swoosh’ing behind him as they closed. Ruh’k muttered something in Klingonses as he left. 

Pheonix looked into the foreground to where T’Mau was still standing. “He’s the other Vulcan guy that I talked about before.” 

“We have met already.” 

“Ah good, sorry about all this,” Phoenix said. “Usually we don’t fight this much. What are here for?”

T’Mau brought the tribble out from besides him, wrapped in T’Mau’s uniform. This in fact, had left him in his black undershirt for this entire conversation. I should have perhaps mentioned that before and I apologies for not. “I believe that you are wanting this.” 

Phoenix leaned forward as the tribble chipped happily in the soft red fabric. “Can you take this thing to sickbay? Get the EMH to check over to see if it’s got anything unusual going on, and while you’re there get yourself looked over. If it is actually carrying anything like Ruh’k is trying to accuse it of then I don’t want you down as well.” 

T’Mau brought the tribble back close to himself, it seemed to like him. “Why not the brig?” He asked. 

Phoenix chuckled softly at that. “I like your thinking. Checkup first, and then tiny prison.” 

* * *

  
Ruh’k turned a corner, teeth grinding together. He knew that this was, and to use an older Terrian expression, ‘bullshit.’ 

“I need some emotional support,” he said as he matched his pace with the ship’s caretaker and his cart. 

“Oh? Do you now?” Rhode said as he moved a few things around the top of the cart to clear some space. 

Ruh’k sat the top and looked back at him with his chin in his hand. Rhode kept on pushing the cart with him on it. “Crew are starting to fall asleep where they’re standing, nobody can locate what the cause is. I have a theory but nothing solid to back it up.” Ruh’k said. 

“You look quite tired yourself, you should get checked.”

“No. I just haven’t slept in 30.7 hours. It is unrelated.” 

Rhode put an eyebrow up, “Ya sure?”

“Everybody who’s been infected got affected quickly, if I had gotten sick at the same time as Dotip and the others then I should-,” Ruh’k paused to yawn, “-be asleep by now. But I’m not.” 

“Ya sure?” Rhode said, the tone was exactly the same as the first time that he had said it. 

“And they’re all aliens, too. I can’t think of what else that they have in common.”

“Red blood?”

Ruh’k seemed to think for a moment. “It was detected that what was making them sick was stopping their blood from carrying oxygen, so you could be right there.”

“Like a super anemia,” Rhode replied, not really caring for the problem of the week. 

“Exactly like a ‘super anemia.’ That still doesn’t help with anything besides me not being effected. It doesn’t solve the problem.” 

“If the tribble is somehow infecting people with super Anemia, then you or Ensign T’Mau can catch it and not be affected.” 

“Yes, that’s right.”

Rhode checked something on his PADD. 

“Dotip had the tribble in the messhall,” Ruh’k thought out loud. 

“I’ve actually just finished cleaning it over,” Rhode informed.

“And?”

“There was some sort of oil residue on one of the tables when I got there. I assume somebody had just made a mess with their food, but that might be useful for you to know.”

Ruh’k seemed to think for a moment. “Do tribbles sweat? If they had put it on that table, could that have been tribble sweat?”

Rhode shrugged. “I don’t think it would be too hard to make one sweat with a bit of extra engineering, if you wanted too.” 

“Wait, hang on, did you touch the stuff?” Ruh’k asked softly. 

Rhode gestured to a box of disposable gloves on the cart. “Nope.” The man was a sanitations worker, you don’t do that bare-skinned. These two where quite alike in many regards. 

“You should have said something, this is a lead.”

“I really don’t report every fluid that I come across, no, the paperwork would drive me insane.” 

Ruh’k climbed off the cart, picked up a bucket from the cart, twirling it in the air as he did it. “I’m going go and catch it.” Ruh’k said under his breath. Rhode wasn’t fast enough to save his bucket. 

“You’re not gonna be able too.” 

“Doesn’t stop me from trying,” Ruh’k said as he left. 

“It’s your funeral.”

Rhode watched him run off before lighting a cigarette for himself. 


	7. Overkill

“You do not seem so bad,” T’Mau said to the little fuzzball in his arms as he made his way to the ship’s sickbay, “Not as bad as Lieutenant Commander Ruh’k says you are, perhaps. I hope that he is not this hostile to other lifeforms on the ship as he is towards you.” 

The tribble ‘coo’ed’ some more. It really did seem harmless. It was nibbling on part of the uniform that it had been wrapped in. It seemed to quite like being carried, way better than to try and inch yourself around everywhere. 

There was the sound of boots squeaking from down the hallway. “Oi! Stop there!” a familiar voice shouted, “Where did you get that?” 

T’Mau stopped and turned around. 

Ruh’k flicked around the bucket that he had in hand and began to march towards T’Mau and friend. “That creature is a threat to this entire ship. Kill it.”

T’Mau looked back down at the snuggled up tribble in his arms. “Sir, it’s just-“

“_Now _,” Ruh’k ordered with a snarl. 

The tribble came closer to T’Mau in fear – if it could sense or feel fear that was. 

“Hey Ru,” Phoenix called out from the end of the hallway, walking after him. One of Ruh’k ear’s flicked back, but the rest of him didn’t move. The Lieutenant Commander jogged a little towards the other two officers. “Mr Rhode said you needed me, what’s wrong?”

“Ensign. Give that to me,” Ruh’k said as he went again to grab the tribble by force.

T’Mau pulled back yet again. He looked to Phoenix. “Commander,” He said, asking for some reassurance with a concerned look. 

“That’s an order,” Ruh’k commanded. T’Mau looked to Phoenix for help. 

The bundle in T’Mau’s arms forced itself out and jumped out about half a meter above his head, a gaping, jawless mouth, two feet wide, and peppered with too many teeth to make sense. 

Ruh’k watched the teeth for a split second with a well-justified quiet ‘huh’ before diving out of the way of its attack, dropping the bucket on the ground as he did so. 

The tribble made its way through the ground and up a wall, leaving a clear path of destruction as it did so. It sounded like a small chainsaw racketing around the hallway. Phoenix ducked out of the way holding down his afro with an ‘eep’ as the tribble pushed on a wall and dove towards him. 

Ruh’k was able to kick the tribble into the nearest doorway as this happened, “Door! Field!” was the best he was able to articulate in the few seconds it took for the tribble to regain itself and gear up to come back out. The computer was able to figure out what he needed, cutting the tribble off with the ‘phwoosh’ of a force field activating. The door to the room didn’t close. The tribble was left running circles around the room, cutting into the floor with a screech of teeth on metal. 

“What the- what the hell is going on? What did you two do?!” Phoenix called out from the floor, arms protecting his head. 

Ruh’k got up, fixing his shirt as he did so. “I _ told _ you that _ thing _was bad news!” he yelled, arm out towards the door. “I told you!” 

T’Mau ignored Ruh’k shouting and took a few steps towards the quarters to get a better look. The room looked nice, possibly for a lieutenant judging by the fact that it was big enough for a desk and sofa, but was clearly just occupied by a single officer. Every surface had been covered in paper and notebooks as if it had belonged to a frantic student. 

Or to be more precise, there _ had _ been a sofa in there, if that hadn’t of been what the tribble had landed on and had destroyed in turning it’s trajectory around. Nothing more than foam and wire now. A lot of the stuff on the walls and floor had also been quickly and completely obliterated. 

Phoenix touched the deep groove that had been left on the wall next to him, it had cut into the temperature regulation system. There was a very thin, goo-something, over the rough edges. He wiped it off on his pants. He seemed confused, “No tribble’s ever been able to do something like that.”

“No shit!” Ruh’k shouted back. “This one has! If you had just listened to me-” 

“This is a whole new problem!” Phoenix cut over. “It was a crazy theory. How was I supposed to know you actually had a point?”

“I’m your second in command! It was not!” Ruh’k spat back. “Why don’t you ever listen to me?”

“I do listen to you!” 

“Sirs, the tribble. it is still a problem,” T’Mau tried to report over the shouting, trying to worm himself between the two angry officers. 

“Oh! I’m sorry! _ Commander perfect _ ! _ Krikh _ -_fuck-dammit _-this is just like the Saint Elburda shipment all over again!” Ruh’k cursed. 

“This is nothing like that!” Phoenix defended his arms out. 

“Three people got shot!” Ruh’k called back, his hands flailing around and almost hitting a concerned-looking T’Mau in the face, if not for T’Mau ducking out of the way. 

Phoenix stuttered to find the right words. “Look! Nobody’s face has been mauled off _ yet _and people are going to live. It’s contained - this isn’t the end of the world!”

T’Mau chanced a glance back at the two arguing officers. He tossed up between whether certain death, or worse - in the form of getting in trouble on his first day - was worth getting between their argument. “Sirs, it can go through the wall.”

The wall in question was being bored into from the inside by a living drill. Neither senior officer seemed to care much for it. 

“-I don’t KNOW,” Ruh’k yelled back. “They touch the alien,” He threw his hands to the left, “they get all rashed up,” the hands moved to the right. “That’s the connection that I’ve been trying to tell you!”

"The wall-"

Both of Ruh'k's hands went out to either side. “I didn’t know it had so many teeth! I thought it had a normal amount of teeth! Tribbles don’t even _ have _ teeth! This is just overkill at this point!”

“GUYS!” T’Mau said, cutting into their obliviousness. The other two officers looked at him. The three of them all looked over at the new hole in the wall. The wriring that had been cut in from the hole in the wall caused the door’s force-field to destabilize with a fizz. 

“Alright you little petaQ,” Ruh’k replied as he took his yellow uniform off and cracked it on the floor like a fabric whip, “this has drawn on for long enough.” The area on his arm – the area that had been bitten a couple of in-story hours ago – had a minor version of the rash that a lot of the rest of the crew were currently suffering from. 

The Tribble attacked, the swift ‘CRACK’ of a fabric uniform as it swatting the Tribble out of the air and tumbling onto the carpeted floor. 

Ruh’k grabbed the first thing in his line of sight – a very nice looking (and expensive) bottle of blue Tomarian Vodka. The bottle was quickly smashed over the tribble, Tomarian glass shattering everywhere with the iconic sparks that it gave off. The tribble shook off the vodka like a wet dog while still inside of the uniform right before Ruh’k all his weight to keep the tribble contained within. The tribble struggled to break free, but Ruh’k worked harder. He was lucky it didn’t try to burrow into the floor. 

After a minute or so, the struggling under the fabric died down, the fumes of the vodka causing the tribble to fall asleep. “Bucket_ , now _,” Ruh’k ordered impenitently. 

T’Mau quickly got the bucket back from the floor by him and took Ruh’ks place over the tribble. The bucket was upside down, the asleep tribble contained underneath. 

Phoenix was still panting, his hands on his skinny knees. “Alright, I believe you.” 

“Thank you,” Ruh’k replied, catching his breath, watching the bucket for one last attempt of an escape. 

“Sorry about that,” Phoenix said as he stood up. 

“Don’t worry about it, you had your reasons.”

Phoenix struggled to keep his balance with a hand on the wall. Ruh’k was able to catch him in time, putting the quickly fading commander over his shoulder. There was a rash starting to appear on his hand – the same had that had previously touched the tribble-sweat-goo-residue thing left by the tribble. 

T’Mau got off from the bucket and flipped it around as he lifted it up. Ruh’ks uniform was soaking wet with the Vodka, and the tribble tucked inside.

Ruh’k seemed to tense up a little. “Be careful,” he said, the commander holding tighter to his body as he if he was drunk. 

T’Mau brought the bucket to his chest and carefully pulled the shirt off the tribble, leaving a little space for him to take a look inside and the little alien to breath. “It is purring in it’s sleep,” he reported quietly. It was also covered in flakes of a bit of wall and couch. 

“It better be,” Ruh’k replied. “C’mon, help me take these two to sickbay – we can see what the actual fuck is going on with that thing while we’re there.” 

“How did it go?” A man’s voice came from the bend of the hallway. It was Mr Rhode with his hands in his pockets. He had been just far enough away that it wasn’t his problem this whole time. This was a Starfleet issue, and they were experienced officers. They could handle it. 

“We got it!” Ruh’k said as he took the bucket from T’Mau and held it up in victory. 

“Can I have my bucket back?” Rhode asked. 

“No,” Ruh’k replied, giving the bucket back to T’Mau. “Replicate a new one for all that you helped.” 

Phoenix’s badge beeped, and Ruh’k answered it. “Ruh’k speaking.”

It was Bahn. “Is everything alright? The computer detected a lot of screaming and destruction just outside of my quarters.” 

“We’re fine, don’t worry about ‘nenithing,” Ruh’k replied as he took the commander away, “You can call r4 and report that we’ve disabled that weapon.” 

T’Mau looked at the wreckage of the scene behind him before quickly chasing after Ruh’k. Poor Bahn. Once they were gone Mr Rhode went over to begin to clean it all up. 


	8. Can We Keep It?

It was a couple of days before the people sent over from r4 arrived on the Migaloo. Three officers beamed over, one from each colour division – a full set, if you liked to keep track of it that way. The lead officer was in red, and was an earring-less Bagorian Lut. Commander named ‘Berock.’ 

Phoenix and the ship’s local Caitian security officer were there to greet Berock and his team when they materialized. 

By now most of those who were affected had gone back to work, others still on bed rest as their bodies finished healing themselves. The sedative was strong and would have worked great in a lab, but it didn’t really hold up to glory inside of a real animal. 

“…The tribble produces something in it’s sweat that acts as a sedative to anybody with oxygen in their blood. It stops their blood from carrying it, but they recover quickly. We didn’t have any deaths or anything worse than some rashes from where people had touched it,” Phoenix explained as they walked. 

“Good, good, that’s what I like to hear,” Berock replied.

“It also has a lot of teeth. Like, a lot of teeth,” Phoenix kept speaking, holding his hands out in a rough approximation of how big the mouth could become. 

Berock squinted back, not quite sure how to respond to that. “Okay, could be better.”

“It’s only attacked one of our officers so far, if that means anything. It’s been kept in the mess hall this whole time, it’s just been in it’s own little box and hasn’t harmed anybody else.” The group turned into the mess hall, “and here we are.” 

The mess hall was decently full, or as full as it could really be during lunch on a ship with such a small staff. 

“It’s in the shame box,” Phoenix said, leading them towards one of the mess hall tables by the bar. 

Berock seemed to be confused about that. “I’m sorry?”

The camera cut to what was pretty much just a plastic box with ‘shame box’ written on the side in pen. The top of the box had been duct-taped closed, but small holes had been stabbed (like, with a knife, not with an actual tool for that type of job) all around it to let air and light in. 

“Keiro added that bit,” Phoenix informed with a smile. “She’s our pilot.” 

Berock took the lid off the ‘shame box.’ The tribble was cooing happily in a nest of paper bedding, all cleaned up and content with it’s situation. 

“Don’t touch it with your bare skin,” Phoenix requested, “It’s still quite dangerous.”

“I see,” he replied quietly as he placed the lid back. He felt quite underwhelmed all things considered, this whole ordeal had been quite hyped up on his end. Now it was just chilling out in a postal box. 

Phoenix kept on talking. “it’s got enough Betamolz in it’s system to last it another month.”

“That’s a mammalian birth control, right?”

The commander nodded. “it’s also reversible, whoever sent this thing wanted it to be able to reproduce later on and as soon as possible.” 

“If a tribble _ didn’t _do that that would be an issue,” the security officer by Berock commented. 

Phoenix put his hands together. “So, uh, would anybody like something to drink?” he said with a smile. He went over to one of the food replicators and pressed a few buttons. He picked up the cup and looked inside. “Would anybody like some Tt’ya soup?”

Rhode had been there in the room, wiping down a table. “Hey, what’s on the planet it was going to end up on, anyways?” He asked the guest officers. “The one that your station orbits? Anything super important?” 

Berock looked over at him. “Oh, Galro IV? It’s a class M with only minimal plant life, but there is a small community of farmers and miners on one of the Southern continents who have settled there rather recently.” 

“What are they growing?” he asked as he moved towards the group, putting his cleaning stuff aside. 

“It’s my understanding that it’s a lot of Bestra plants, actually. There’s a big privent plantation next to crop farms.” Dalk, the science officer with them, said. “Well, that and organic food crops, but the Bestra is said to become it’s next biggest export once those plants are mature enough to harvest. It’s quite interesting.” 

“Oooh, so it’s a drug thing?” Rhode asked, not even blinking. 

The others looked at him. 

“Replocated Bestaroot doesn’t give you the same high as the naturally grown stuff.” Rhode explained, clearly knowing about it. “If Galro IV is prepping to be a big exporter of the stuff, it’s going to be a huge contestant on the market.” 

“What does it do?” Ruh’k asked, halfway through a sandwich. 

“It’s a really powerful halitgentic,” Rhode explained, his arms crossed. “Apparently you can’t overdose on the stuff. The blackmarket value is insane, but it’s not illegal to grow, yet. It’s just a fussy plant.” 

“What are you thinking?” Berock asked, “Send a couple of super destructive pests down and then a rival grower is taken care of?” 

“It’s a working theory,” Dalk said. 

“Too bad it didn’t work,” Ruh’k said as he walked over and looked into the shamebox. 

Berock sighed. “Yep. Anyways, we really should be taking it now, we wouldn’t want something bad to happen because of it. With the type of firepower that you’ve been talking about it could destroy a whole planet’s ecosystem in no time.” 

Ruh’k watched him pick the box up. “What’s going to happen to it?” He asked. “The Tribble, I mean.” 

Berock stopped and looked at the book. “Study, I suppose. Find out who made it and keep it alive and out of harm's way since it’s technically still evidence.” 

“Will it get culled?”

The officer exhaled. “Well, if somebody wants to take care of a murder tribble that nobody can touch, I suppose they are welcome to do so.” 

“Can I keep it?” Ruh’k asked, getting everybody’s attention. 

Berock turned around. “Keep it?”

“Well, it’s going to probably stay in some exotic zoo or lab for the rest of it’s life, so can I be the one who gets it?” Ruh’k asked. “The tribble won’t know the difference.” 

Phoenix and Berock enhanced glacies. 

“Well, I suppose once the correct data is recorded,” Berock said, “As long as you can keep it contained.” 

“No, I think I can handle it. They’re simple creatures.” 

“Ru it keeps attacking you,” Phoenix said, clearly confused. He could see almost everybody on the ship want to keep around this thing more than Ruh’k, this felt almost out of nowhere. “Like, with the teeth and everything, my dude.” 

“Yeah, I know,” Ruh’k acknowledged, “But I doubt that anybody would willingly want to keep it.”

Dotip put a blue, still slightly burnt hand up. 

“Lieutenant Dotip Jason Th'zhaoriss I swear to _ any _ god that will listen if you touch this thing again I will personally throw you out of the airlock.”

Dotip put his hand down. 

* * *

If you were wondering what it was like for Dotip and Bahn to try and move a couch across several decks, the answer was ‘bad.’ This sort of thing took a certain amount of skill and critical thinking that quick frankly, neither of them actually had. 

Still, they persisted. 

“Maybe we should do a site-to-site?” Dotip asked in a quiet voice. 

“Do you want to take it back down to the transporter?” Bahn asked. 

Dotip looked down at the couch. It was a nice chestnut brown. “Not really, no.” 

Bahn sighed. “We’re senior Starfleet offices. We can handle moving a couch.” 

The couch had actually been replicated at a Galrivan replacement part manufacturer now that they were around the planet for a couple of days as people and cargo were un and re-loaded. 

“Do you require any assistance?” T’Mau said as he walked around the makeship movealist team. He had been coming back to his quarters after a shift helping to keep watch of the bridge: it seemed rather redundant to take a weekend off when you’ve been employed for so little time as he had been. 

Dotip and Bahn stopped, Bahn looked at T’Mau. “I don’t know if there is anything that you can do – but thank you,” he said. 

“Why are you moving furniture across the ship?” T’Mau asked. 

“Mine disappeared,” Bahn explained, shifting more of the weight of the couch to Dotip.

T’Mau rose an eyebrow. “Disappeared?” 

“I go back to my quarters and it was just, gone,” Bahn said before biting the inside of his cheek, clearly still confused over the matter. 

T’Mau looked to the side to avoid making eye contact and put his hands together. 

“Who would just take a couch from somebody’s room? Like, the drinks that I had bottled on the shelf I can see because they’re expensive, but my couch?” he looked back at T’Mau. Bahn was considerably taller than T’Mau, and a lot tiner, but not in a stylish way, but in a ‘this guy needs to pick up a sport’ kind of way. “It was junk.”

“No. That is rather strange.” 

Ruh’k was walking past, carrying transparent aluminium sheets in his arms. “Hey - ensign,” he called, passing T’Mau half of the stack. “here.”

T’Mau fixed his grip on the sheets and followed Ruh’k around a few turns of the hallways. Bahn and Dotip went back to their own little project. 

The pair arrived in Ruh’k quarters, the box that contained the tribble was on his desk. One of his walls, one that would generally be an inset storage shelf, had been cleared out and replaced with a new configuration of shelves. Ruh’k put the sheet that he had been carrying on the floor, and T’Mau left his on top of it. 

“I assume that you are making a terrarium?” the Vulcan asked. There was also a bag of paper animal bedding next to the aluminum stack. He must have replicated all of this at the same place that Bahn had acquired his new couch. 

Ruh’ks room was fairly standard for his rank. There was a Vulcan Lirpa mounted on the wall above his bed that needed a new grip and black out curtains hanging before the full-sized window that took up a good bit of his curved wall. The door to the reset of the quarters had been closed and there was some kind of overgrown plant hanging off the ceiling in a corner. 

“Yep,” Ruh’k said as he took the top sheet off the pile with one hand and a gapfiller with the other. He welded the sheet into one of the matching holes in the wall. There was a series of these inbuilt boxes with another smaller section free above them, separated by a bit of the wall that was only on the front layer. This bit was for a lid – much like when a fish tank as a sideways opening one. That’s what Ruh’k was going for with this once it was done. 

It also offered a way to quickly offer some food without the tribble coming for a hand. 

“There is a level of dedication observed in this decision. I am surprised that you are willing to house the creature like a pet after what it did to the crew and your previous animosity towards it.”

Ruh’k shrugged and looked into the box. The tribble was nibbling on a plant. “It’ll come in handy one day,” he said simply. 

“Does it still react violently towards you? I cannot assume that to be a favorable bunkmate.”

“It knows by now I’m only here to give it food. I think that’s calms it down,” He looked up at T’Mau, “It’s not very hard to keep it quite.” 

“I see. Lieutenant, may I ask you a question?” 

Ruh’k put the sealant down and looked back at T’Mau. “I suppose so, what’s wrong?” he asked. 

“Has the last,” T’Mau chose his words carefully, “Adventure, been typical on-board occurrences?”

“When stuff actually happens? Usually it’s a little more exciting than this. Otherwise it’s pretty standard back-and-forth trips.” Ruh’k blinked, perhaps a little too hard. “Well, that’s the hope at least. You’re working for Starfleet now, kid. Crazy shit happens all the time here.”

T’Mau nodded. “I wish to apologize for my reaction to your orders on Tuesday. I should handed it directly over when ordered.”

“Neh, it’s alright,” Ruh’k dismissed. “I was acting way too emotionally, you made a good call. It would have taken one look at me and by the time you realized what was going on it could have made it a new nest in my lungs.” 

T’Mau watched Ruh’k work more on the new Tribble terrarium for a while before speaking again. “My apologies for being so blunt, but may I freely ask another?”

Ruh’k looked back and up at him. “Huh? Yes? What now?”

“Would I be able to be transferred to another ship upon request?” 

Ruh’k looked away from him and back to pouring small animal bedding. “Nope.” 

T’Mau’s face scrunched up a little. “_ Sir- _“

Ruh’k laughed. “If we’re all stuck here, you’re stuck here. You’ll cope.” 

“Sir.”

“That’s an order.” 

T’Mau didn’t have the mental power to think of a good response to such an order and thus simply left Ruh’k to set up the terrain. 

* * *


End file.
